Flypaper Centre
by SylverFyre
Summary: When another Pretender is ordered to bring Jarod in, she learns the price of bargaining with the Centre.


Note: The characters of Jarod, Sydney, Miss Parker, Mr. Lyle and Sam the Sweeper are property of TNT and whoever else owns them since it's not me. Jillian belongs to me since she's my character. I just re-uploaded the story because I read it and saw how many errors there were. How embarressing! 

            It wasn't the best place he'd ever slept in. Wallpaper that was peeling from the walls, carpet that was stained to a dingy gray and yellow stains on the roof from chain-smokers. But he would gladly take this dirty, cramped room over the Centre any day. Especially now. They had taken away too many people that he cared about. His family. Everyone.   
            The journal and the letters, that lay scattered over his bed, were all that remained of her now. Jillian.   
            He wiped his tears away. Just when he had found someone else who truly understood him, and what it meant to be a Pretender, they had taken her away. Why couldn't they just leave him alone? Leave his family, his friends, and the people he cared about, alone? Couldn't they see they were slowly killing him? Didn't they even care?   
            He knew the answers. Had been over them thousands of times. Frankly, he was amazed he had held onto his sanity as long as he had. Sometimes, when he was alone, he felt as if it was draining away from him. He just didn't know where his pretending stopped, and the real him began. He still wasn't sure who the "real" him was, and Jillian had understood that. Understood his need to help people. She knew him better than he did.   
            And she was gone.   
            He picked up the first letter she'd written, and began reading it over again. 

_Dear Jarod,_   
            _Perhaps one day you will read this letter. Perhaps I will even meet you. We are two of a kind Jarod. Both of us Pretenders. I am beginning to understand you. I've watched the DSA's of your life up to the mid-seventies. It seems your life was mine. It was like deja-vu, seeing you, almost like reliving my life through your eyes._   
_ Our Simulations were different, but our life, lives, they're the same. I feel I am connected to you, in a way I've never experienced before. And I wish you knew me as I am coming to know you. I understand you._   
_            Jarod, they want me to bring you in. Pretend to be you, and find you. Maybe then we can get to know each other. Will you be angry if I helped Miss Parker capture you? Would you come to hate me? I don't want that, but I do want to know you. Is that wrong? Selfish? If you were here now, I would know for sure. But you're not, you're helping people. Maybe someday you will help me, or maybe I can help you._   
            _I must go now, sweepers are coming._

_                                                                                    Jillian_

            As Jarod read the letters, his mind began piecing together the events that had lead up to his recent capture. He closed his eyes, the letters forgotten for the time being, as he relived Jillian's last pretend.   


             She was sitting there in that upholstered chair, nervous.   
_         What do they want with me?_   
         Mr. Lyle walked into the room, his office. She wanted to run, hide, get away this man who was dressed in some italian designer suit, his hair, nails, and every other detail, perfect. It scared her, his need to control, to have things his way. Even his smile was perfect.   
        "Hello Jillian." His voice was pleasant, friendly. Perfect.   
          "Hello." Her throat was dry, her voice scratchy.   
          He sat down. She glanced around, the office was too perfect. Everything was perfect. It made her shiver in fear because she knew when things were not perfect, Mr. Lyle became Bobby Bowman, that scared little boy who had to get away from his step-father's control. He had expected Bobby to be perfect. But Bobby wasn't perfect, never could be. Only Mr. Lyle was perfect.   
         "I'll bet you're wondering why you're here." Mr. Lyle said, after offering her a drink, which she declined.   
        "You want me to use my Pretender skills to do something for you Mr. Lyle." She told him bluntly. She wanted this over with as soon as possible.   
        Lyle chuckled, "Very good Jillian." His smile quickly faded, "There's a man, and his name is Jarod. I want you to find him, help us capture him. When he's here, safe at the Centre, we'll allow you to leave. We'll even take you wherever you like."   
        Her eyes widened. It was too good to be true. She wanted so badly to believe it. There was a possibility they would allow it. There was always a chance. She had tasted, felt, smelled freedom, now she wanted to actually experience it.   
            "All right." She whispered.   
            "Good. Here are the details." He slid a large manila folder across his desk to her, "You will be given access to DSA's that contain his life here at the Centre. If you need anything, don't hesitate to ask." Then he dismissed her with a flick of his maimed hand, she grabbed the folder, and stood. Two sweepers escorted her back to her quarters. 

            She was sitting in her room, going through the file on Jarod. However, she didn't trust the "official" files on Jarod. On anyone else for that matter. It was all too neat. Too _perfect_. How did they expect her to run a proper simulation when her facts were incorrect? She needed the truth. All of it.   
            She asked one of the sweepers who were guarding (guarding what? Her? Did they think she would run away like Jarod did?) her door to tell Mr. Lyle she needed to speak with him. It was important. That was the night that she wrote her first letter to Jarod. She also began her journal. Her records of how this Simulation was progressing. It was all kept in a purple notebook. It was sometime in the early hours in the morning before she drifted off into an exhausted sleep. All of Jarod's files cluttered her bed. 

            Exhaustion caught up with him. He fell asleep and dreamed of a young woman in her mid-thirties. Her hair was long, brown and curly. She had green eyes that never seemed to laugh or smile.   
        She kept telling him that she was sorry. Tears streamed down her face.   
        "I'm sorry Jarod. So very sorry." She whispered it over and over until Jarod awoke from his troubled dreams.   
        "So am I Jillian. So am I." 

        She had gone over everything, until she knew it all by heart, everything about him. She had studied his picture until she had memorized every wrinkle, laugh line, every part of his face.   
        She wrote another letter to him that night. It was the third one she'd written. 

_ Dear Jarod,_   
_          I know everything now. Mr. Lyle gave me access to files that would drive anyone else to insomnia and paranoia. I know things about you and everyone else. Things people would try to forget, but would haunt them in their nightmares. I know, because they haunt mine._   
_         I know everything about you, things you probably wouldn't remember. This Sim is getting too personal. Everyday I study you. I think I am becoming obsessed with you. Mr. Lyle makes me eat, sleep, drink you, and I cannot escape you, or what is happening to me. You are constantly in my head, I am becoming you. And I can't stop this, it's too late now._   
_         Has any Pretender ever tried to actually become another Pretender? I don't think it's safe. Look at Angelo. He's a vegetable, but he has to be. He has an incredible gift of becoming anyone, even a Pretender, yet his emotions are locked away. Pretending to be a Pretender isn't safe, can't be. We can feel everyone's emotions; it's almost like sensory overload. I'm not sure I will survive this Simulation._   
_         Am I making any sense? I fear I've lost my objectivity along with my sanity. They're dangling a bone before my eyes Jarod, knowing I am starving. They don't care, they never have. They want to know where you are, and I cannot hold back forever. They know my fears. They instilled them in me. Eventually they will find out where you are, even if I don't want to tell them._   
_         Please forgive me Jarod for what they are making me do, for what I've done. Perhaps, they will actually give me my freedom. There is a chance they will really let me leave._   
_         I think I am falling in love with you Jarod. Isn't that crazy? But it's true. I don't even know you personally, but I love you anyway. I HAVE gone crazy._

_ I'm so sorry,_   
_ Jillian_   


        She didn't want to do it. She lied, begged, and finally when she could no longer stand it, stand the terror, she'd given in. She told them exactly where Jarod was hiding at the moment. What he was doing there, everything.   
        "Good girl Jillian." It was empty praise.   
        "What about my freedom?" She whispered, knowing, yet praying.   
        "What about it? Did you actually think we would allow you to leave the Centre and compromise everything that we've worked so hard to accomplish? You are very foolish Jillian to have so blindly trusted a promise of freedom. You will never leave the Centre. Never."   
        "What have I done?" She whispered, tears rolling freely down her pale cheeks. "What have I done to you Jarod? What have I done?" She whispered again and again as the sweepers took her back to her room. She lay on her floor for hours afterwards, crying, and praying for forgiveness from a man who didn't even know she existed.   
        "Oh Jarod, please forgive me." 

        When Miss Parker and Mr. Lyle finally dragged Jarod in, Jillian saw it. Saw the wild, crazed look in his eyes. Knew she had done a terrible thing to this man. Fresh waves of guilt assaulted her, and she knew that no matter what, she would free Jarod from this place. Soon. 

_ Dear Jarod,_   
_ I saw you. They brought you in, and I saw you for the very first time. I pray you will forgive me for what I've done. I never meant to hurt you._   
_         The Centre, Mr. Lyle, Miss Parker, they will never let us go Jarod. Neither of us. Do you want to know why? Because the Centre is like flypaper, and you and me Jarod, are the flies. Once you're caught, you struggle all your life for freedom, then you finally die from exhaustion. If you're lucky enough to escape, you're no longer whole. There are pieces of you missing, left behind. Tokens for the Centre._   
_         They will always have us Jarod. But I can help you get free. I won't allow them to keep you any longer, like some prized, trophy fly they've captured. I am going to free you, Jarod. Soon you will be free to fly again. This Flypaper Centre won't keep you this time._

_ Forgive me,_   
_ Jillian_   


        You could hear his hoarse screaming echoing in the lonely halls of SL-26. It grated on her nerves, reminding her that she was responsible for his being there.   
        She stopped before his door and two sweepers, Miss Parker's most trusted, stood guard. Sam and the one whose name she hadn't caught yet.   
        Sam was eyeing her skeptically when he asked, "Who are you?"   
        "I'm Susan Watkins. Dr. Susan Watkins." She waited, giving the two sweepers a look that clearly said that should mean something to them.   
        "That means exactly what to me?" Sam asked.   
        She sighed patiently, "Listen, Miss Parker told me to sedate your prisoner and take him up to SL-19 for testing. I don't know how often you disobey Miss Parker's orders, but I try to stay on her good side." She raised an eyebrow; her tone indicated the two sweeper's sanity was being questioned.   
        "Look! I don't have time to stand here having a staring contest with you two, if I don't get that man up to SL-19 soon, Miss Parker and Mr. Lyle will skin us all alive."   
        "All right, Dr. Watkins." Sam sighed; he opened the door for her, allowed her to enter, and followed her inside the room, making sure to close the door behind him.   
        Jarod was being heavily restrained in what looked like an alien birthing table. She badly wanted to tell him she was there to help, but could not with Sam breathing down her neck.   
        "Hurry up, Doctor." Sam urged.   
She nodded, walked over to Jarod, whose dark eyes watched her every move. She pulled out a hypodermic needle filled with a clear liquid and injected it in Jarod's right arm; he cringed, and then glared at her.   
        "It should take a few minutes to take effect." She stood back to wait.   
        "What did you give me?" His voice was low, almost a growl, and his eyes were bleak, empty. She realized that if he stayed in the Centre, he would die. At least his spirit would.   
        "Sugar water." She answered him. Both Jarod and Sam looked confused a moment.   
        She walked over to Sam, who had finally concluded she had been joking with Jarod, and she stuck a needle in his left shoulder. His eyes widened as he collapsed to the ground, and went unconscious.   
        She glanced heavenward, mumbling something, then at Jarod, gave him a brief smile and called for the other sweeper to help her with his fallen companion. He soon joined Sam in a heap on the floor, and she heaved a sigh of relief.   
        "Who are you?" Jarod asked, he seemed leery of her, afraid.   
        "A Pretender, Jarod. Like you." She told him softly. "I'm here to rescue you."   
        "How do I know you're telling the truth?" The suspicion was still there, accusing her, and she did not blame him at all.   
        "Because I am responsible for you being here. I found you Jarod, and told Mr. Lyle where you were." Her voice, her eyes were so sad, so pain filled, Jarod knew then he could trust her. He knew how to read people, and she was not acting, she was for real.   
        "What's your name?"   
        "Jillian."   
        "Let's get out of here, Jillian."   
        Her smile was beautiful, if not still sad. She freed him from his restraints and then told him to lay on the gurney that stood in the corner of the darkened room. He lay down, and she strapped him in.   
        "Close your eyes, Jarod." He did as she bid him, and she wheeled him out of that room, and out of the Centre. 

        How had they found them? And so quickly! They had escaped less than forty-eight hours ago. How had they tracked them this fast? Jarod wasn't prepared for this. For anything.   
        In fact, Jarod was still reeling from everything he had learned from Jillian. She knew who was behind most of the supposed "accident" at the Centre. Like Sydney and Jacob's car accident and Catherine Parker's "suicide". She knew it all. She had told him all. He was glad to know that his father had not been involved in Miss Parker's mother's death. She knew more than he had wanted to know, but needed to know for his survival.   
        Jarod couldn't believe how well she understood him. Part of him, the sensible part, knew that her Pretender skills and her studying his history was the reason for it, the other part of him, the part that had longed for a companion, had never truly grown up, was awed over her understanding.   
        Now sweepers, four to be exact, surrounded them outside their motel room. Their car was only a few yards away. So close. And Jarod couldn't think. How would they get out of this situation? His mind was fuzzy, his thinking processes, usually so analytical, were slow and muddled. What was wrong with him?   
        Jillian however had already come up with a solution. Before anyone could stop her, or guess what she was doing, she had lunged at one of the sweepers and grabbed his gun from his hand. She then grabbed Jarod and pointed the gun at his head.   
        "What are you doing Jillian?" Jarod murmured, clearly very surprised.   
        "Trust me." She whispered, then addressed Mr. Lyle, Miss Parker and the three sweepers with guns remaining. "I'll kill him and myself if you don't leave us be." Her voice had grown cold, sharp. It chilled Jarod to the core of his being, even though he knew she pretended.   
        "Surely you would not do such a thing Jillian." Mr. Lyle was calling her on her bluff.   
        "I don't believe you have any idea what a Pretender is capable of Mr. Lyle, given the right surroundings and situation." Jillian answered coldly.   
        "Please, be my guest and enlighten us my dear." Lyle seemed casual, but his eyes were cold and hard.   
        "We won't go back to the Centre. We'd rather die first." It was a bold statement, everyone, including Lyle seemed shocked momentarily. "Besides, Jarod is worth more than I am, and don't think I won't use him to get what I want Lyle." She paused, and then gave Lyle a piercing look, "All I'd have to do is pretend to be you."   
        Jarod glanced around; everyone seemed to be wary of Jillian now. Almost afraid. Could her crazy scheme be working? They didn't seem to know how to handle this.   
        "I don't believe you could kill Jarod, Jillian. It's just not in you." Lyle's voice was starting to show his strain.   
        "I wouldn't have to kill him Lyle, just make him useless to you. What good is a Pretender in a coma?" Her voice was harsh, determined, as unlike the Jillian Jarod had come to know. He couldn't help but wonder if perhaps she was pretending to be Miss Parker.   
        Lyle knew he had come to a stalemate. Jillian looked unstable. He didn't know if she would or could put a bullet in Jarod. But he didn't want to find out. There would be other days to bring them both in. Alive and conscious. He sighed, defeated this time. "All right, let them go."   
        "What?!" Miss Parker hissed; she looked pissed. She had, until this moment, been uncharacteristically quiet. Now she was going to take charge, and bring Wonder-Boy and his new girlfriend in.   
        However, Lyle grabbed Miss Parker's arm and whispered something in her ear. She glared at him, but remained silent. Lyle turned back to Jarod and Jillian. "Leave."   
        "Walk backwards with me Jarod, and when I say so, turn and run for the car." Jarod nodded.   
        They began walking awkwardly. Shuffling backwards in a lurching sort of fashion, and when Jillian muttered "Now," they both turned and ran. A shot rang out however, Jarod ducked, and out of the corner of his eye, he saw Jillian fall.   
        "NOOooo!" He screamed, turning to see Jillian lying on the pavement, blood spewing forth, soaking her clothing. It barely registered in his brain that Miss Parker had backhanded one of the sweepers, whose gun went flying. The gun that had shot Jillian. Jarod was too busy scooping up her limp body and running to the car.   
        "Jarod stop!" Miss Parker called, her feet pounding the pavement, making an effort to catch up to her prey. Jarod did not even see Miss Parker, who was pointing her gun at his car, firing shots, trying to blow his tire out. He didn't see sweepers trying to run after his car, or even where he was going. All he knew was that he had to get Jillian to a hospital, had to save her.   
        "Hang on Jillian," Jarod whispered, His knuckles were white, he gripped the steering wheel so hard.   
        "Jarod?" It was a soft moan that came from Jillian. She was lying in the passenger's seat of the car, her blood soaking the upholstery, it was everywhere.   
        "I'm here Jill." Jarod assured her. "I'm going to get you to a hospital, so don't you worry about anything."   
        "No." It was a strangled cry. Her voice was very low and soft, a mere breathy whisper.   
        "What?" Jarod wasn't thinking clearly, couldn't with Jillian laying, bleeding to death before his eyes.   
           "That's where they'll expect you to go, Jarod. They'll be waiting for us there, or will arrive shortly after." She was gasping for air by now, "You have to keep driving. For your sake as much as my own."   
        "You'll die if I don't get you to a hospital soon." He was desperate now, his eyes constantly scanning for that blue sign that would tell him where a hospital would be. "I can't just keep going, knowing you are dying, lying in a pool of your own blood." Tears blinded him, this wasn't happening to him.   
        "You have no choice." Gasp, "What I told Lyle was true. I would rather die free Jarod, than live at the Centre. I won't go back." She was coughing blood now, wheezing for air.   
        "But..." It was unthinkable; he didn't want to do it even as he passed the hospital.   
        "Please don't argue with me Jarod." Gasp, "I don't have the strength. This is my wish, my choice."   
        "I can't Jill..."   
           She coughed, her body convulsed with the violence of the fit. "In the trunk, there's a purple notebook." Cough, gasp, "Some letters too." Wheeze, "I love you Jarod." Choke, "Remember... to... fly... for me." She inhaled one last, wheezy gasp, her body relaxed and her breath escaped along with her soul. 

        Jarod's eyes and head ached. When was the last time he'd cried so much? Maybe never. He'd only had a brief time with Jillian, but he wanted more. He wanted to know her, everything about her as she had known him. He wouldn't know now. Because she was gone. Forever.   
        Jarod picked up Jillian's notebook and inhaled its scent. It was part of all the remained of her. A piece of folded paper fell to the bed where Jarod lay, sprawled. Frowning, he picked it up and unfolded it.   
        It was another letter. From Jillian. 

_ Dear Jarod,_   
_ I write this as I watch you sleep so peacefully. I never knew what ice cream tasted like until now, or pez. You've shown me what freedom truly tastes like. Twinkies, and ice cream, and pez. That's the taste of freedom._   
_         But more importantly Jarod, you have taught me something. You have taught me to never give up; I look at what you've gone through, and what you've done. I see a man who, no matter personal cost, no matter how dangerous, is willing to help others, show them compassion, give them love._   
_         You are truly beautiful Jarod. I have seen the world through your eyes; your intelligence and your innocence have touched my soul._   
_         I know I love you Jarod, you are my kindred spirit, my best friend. I am glad that some good came from your capture, I got to meet you. I am sorry you were hurt though. I was being very selfish._   
_         Remember to spread your wings Jarod, and fly. Not like a fly, but like an eagle. Be free and soar. You are a butterfly, flying free and free to fly._   
_ Fly for me Jarod, fly for yourself._

_ Love Always,_   
_ Jillian_


End file.
